


After the Rain

by WolfenM



Series: Finding Reason [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedside Vigils, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/M, Family Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, Lack of Communication, Memories, Missing Scene, Realization, Redemption, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Team as Family, apologia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfenM/pseuds/WolfenM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thomas attempts suicide, it causes the people around him to reflect on their history with and feelings towards him, and who he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoliers for _Downton Abbey_ 6.8. Note: the Hughes/Carson and Anna/Bates romance aspect is minimal. The implied non-con is very minimally referenced by Thomas in a letter, a mention of an incident when he was a late teen, involving a family friend he and his sister called "Uncle" but who was NOT related. It will come up again in the final installment of this series, but will be a non-graphic mention.
> 
> Yes, I know a lot of people hated the suicide story as a gay cliche, and I agree ti some extent, but I still enjoyed it. I will say it aggravated the hell out of me that it came down to JUST a matter of him having been "mean" (essentially suggesting he'd dug his own grave, which may have had some truth, but wasn't the *whole* of the matter), without looking at WHY he was mean, or having anyone looking deeper into his life or taking a moment to consider how difficult their society made it for him to BE happy. Still, I enjoyed the angst, and I did appreciate people seeeming to get nicer to him and root for him. And in general, I find suicide stories very cathartic, when they end happily, showing there is hope -- they've actually helped me through some rough patches. And, well, they feed my hurt/comfort fiend. :P Consider this series a bit of a fix-it, exploring the missed potential. :)
> 
> This is mostly people talking about their observations about Thomas, putting the pieces together to get a bigger picture -- I'm a fan of characters learning something they didn't know about a person, something that changes their perspective in a positive way. I wanted to explore the various reactions to his attempt, too, since the show mostly just glossed over it. And, well, it's Thomas apologia. :P
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Thomas Barrow, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes, Robert Crawley / Earl of Grantham, John Bates, Anna Bates (nee Smith), Beryl Patmore, Tom Branson, Edith Crawley, Cora Crawley / Lady Grantham, Mary Crawley, Sybbie Branson, Daisy Mason (nee Robinson), Andy Parker, and Jimmy Kent © Julian Fellowes / ITV / PBS. This is just fanfiction, not an official story for the series, and no profit is being made by the author.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughes and Baxter put some of the peices together, while Thomas struggles with his survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I fudge a detail -- Carson said Clarkson had "stitched", past tense, but I have Clarkson still working on it when Mrs Hughes goes up. It's not like it'd just take a second to stitch two wrists, and I wouldn't think Hughes would wait long to find out how he is.)
> 
> The song lyrics included are not mine -- they're from an old folk song.

Thomas felt like death warmed over. He was relatively certain that, contrary to the phrase, it meant he'd failed in his task: he was not dead. He avoided opening his eyes, though, hoping to put off the confirmation. And then confirmation came anyways, in the form of a sharp pinch in his wrist -- the same sensation, he realised, that had roused him in the first place.

Against his will, he found himself hissing.

"Sorry. It's almost over," a familiar voice tried to assure him.

"No it's not," Thomas muttered. "It _would_ have been, if you'd just let it be, and let me _go_."

"Like I did with Lieutenant Courtenay? _You_ were the one who made me realise I hadn't lived up to my oath to do no harm there."

Another pinch, but this time Thomas managed to remain stoic for it. His bad hand felt strange, and he realised the glove was missing. Funny how he'd hurt his hand because he'd desperately wanted to live, was terrified of dying. When had he become more afraid of life than death?

"Is it harm or _mercy_ to let a man who chooses to die, do so?" he asked as he felt the doctor tie off the stitch.

"When he's a perfectly healthy man, most definitely harm." Clarkson's tone had an edge of anger.

" _Healthy_? There's a great many people who would not call the likes of me "healthy"! For that matter, _I_ don't _feel_ particularly healthy -- or does mental health not matter? And besides, shouldn't you be against torture?"

Clarkson paused in bandaging the wrist. "Torture?" 

"Have you forgotten when I came with Miss Baxter to see you that one day, after that failed ... _treatment_? You told me there's no cure for what I am, that I just needed to carry on. Well, that's easier said than done. This world has no place for the likes of me, a fact which--" his voice caught for a moment "--the world delights in reminding me of, _daily_. How could it be anything _but_ torture to live in a world where it's against the _law_ for me to love the only people I have ever felt romantic love for?" His voice grew rougher the more he spoke. "Life for my sort only ever gets worse.

"Aside from the world at large not wanting my kind to exist," Thomas went on, "I am no longer wanted _here_ , at Downton, in _particular_ \-- assuming I ever even _was_ wanted. Every friendly overture I make of late is rebuffed or viewed as sinister. Most people seem in quite the hurry to see the back of me -- and as every attempt I've made to find work elsewhere has met with utter failure, I took the only option left to oblige them, aside from starving or freezing to death. So why should a man like me, with no friends, no love, no family, and no _future_ , cling to life? Please ..." Anger drained from him like his blood had tried to, leaving only despair -- and terror that the awful future in store for him seemed inescapable. "Please, just let me _go_!"

"Dr Clarkson, may I have a word," came Mrs Hughes soft brogue -- from the doorway, it sounded.

"Of course, Mrs Hughes, I've just finished," a weary-sounding Clarkson replied after a pause, clearly feeling he should counter what Thomas said but unable to. 

Despite this small victory, Thomas struggled against tears, already humiliated enough without adding those, but the tears won the battle, even with his eyes still closed. The best he could do was turn his face from the door and pray for sleep -- preferably the eternal kind.

~* * *~  
Elsie and Miss Baxter had overheard what Thomas had said, heard the distress in his voice. Heart breaking for him, Elsie felt the man needed a moment, that Clarkson wasn't really helping just then -- hence her interruption.

"How is he?" she asked, leading him and Baxter into another room, for privacy. (She considered telling Baxter to wait with Thomas, but then thought maybe the woman might bring some helpful insight to the discussion.)

"Physically, he'll be all right -- you found him in time. He needn't even go to the hospital. Just let him rest a few days, and make sure he gets plenty of fluids and food strong in iron -- beef, spinach, broccoli. I also advise that you check on him frequently ... and keep any sharp or breakable objects out of reach for the moment."

Elsie felt a pang of renewed sadness for the young man. "So you think he might try again?"

"Well, he seems to think no one wants him around, and that he has nowhere to go ...."

"He's said as much to me, a little while back," Miss Baxter confirmed, wringing her hands. "He's seemed quite down much of the time, worried that he'd be sacked before he can find a new position. I know there's no love lost between him and his father, so his original home isn't really an option. And his sister's husband has forbidden Thomas to visit, for fear he might corrupt their son, so there's no other family to take him in, save for a cousin in Bombay." She sighed. "A few weeks ago, I said I admired how he doesn't care what anyone thinks, but he insisted he _does_. He seemed rather hurt, too." She was overcome for a moment. "I feel quite stupid for not realising how bad things had gotten for him!"

"He did seem rather despondent a few days ago," Elsie reflected, laying a hand on Baxter's arm. "He said Downton was the first place he'd put down roots. He even seemed a bit teary-eyed."

Once upon a time, she wouldn't have been able to relate at all, but in marrying Charles, she was starting to have at least a vague understanding of why her husband was so dedicated to the house: Downton was her husband's _home_ , as much as it was the Crawleys'. Even so, though, she couldn't wrap her head around why _Thomas_ , who seemed so often at odds with everyone in Downton, would feel that way. Was he so desperate for human interaction, he'd take whatever he could get, even if it was hostile? Even from Carson, who had, according to Thomas (and she could easily believe it), said Nature had turned the under-butler into something "foul", and that Thomas should be horsewhipped for a kiss?

How often could a man handle being told ill things about himself before he started to believe it? She'd thought pride was Thomas' sin, but what if it had been what had kept him going as long as he had?

"To be honest, Mr Carson hasn't exactly hidden his feelings about Thomas, practically shoving him out the door at this point," she mused aloud. She needed to have some long-overdue words with her husband about that .... "When Mr Barrow asked to join us in the library recently, Carson told him 'No', rather coldly." Of course, Elsie hadn't stuck up for Thomas -- she'd been too embarrassed at being caught. But little things like that could add up after a while, she supposed. She knew Beryl was prone to snubbing Thomas too -- and not just because he hadn't been the kindest of lads to William or Daisy years ago .... 

"And then there was the situation with Andy," Baxter suggested. "Anna said someone had told him to be wary of Mr Barrow, and Andy didn't want to give him the 'wrong idea'."

Elsie had suspected as much -- _and_ who had given the warning. There was a reason Elsie had never mentioned her "delicate" nephew to her best friend. "But Andy and Mr Barrow seemed to be getting on these days ...." she thought aloud. Enough so that Charles had complained when he'd caught Andy leaving Mr Barrow's room one night, suspecting the worst after Beryl had apparently reported Barrow and Andy arranging a meet-up. But if Barrow and Andy were getting on now, shouldn't that have made Thomas _less_ prone to suicide?

"Oh! It turns out Mr Barrow was teaching Andy how to read!" Baxter explained. "Mr Molesley told me!"

"But ... Mr Carson said something about Andy going to the _school_ for reading lessons in the afternoon," Elsie said, confused.

"Yes, well, apparently Andy's secret came out during a picnic with the schoolmaster. Mr Barrow _had_ been helping Andy, but the schoolmaster said ... if they _both_ helped Andy, it would only confuse him ... so Mr Barrow stopped ...." Eyes widening, Baxter seemed to come to the same conclusion Elsie just did.

So, apparently, had Clarkson."Well, there you have it. His attempts at friendship kept getting thrown back in his face, he's unbearably lonely with no hope of sharing his life intimately with someone, and he's about to lose his home -- a recipe for suicide if I ever heard one. God knows he's not always the easiest man to work with, but then, when you're literally not _allowed_ to be happy in one of the ways one is expected to be, and people keep thwarting your efforts to be happy in every other arena, what kind of temperament would anyone except?"

"Oh! That's right, you worked alongside Mr Barrow during the war!" Elsie suddenly remembered. "Who was Lieutenant Courtenay?" She'd overheard the mention -- it was why, coming upon the conversation between Thomas and Clarkson, she had decided to wait before interrupting.

Clarkson looked stricken now. "He was ... a young nobleman who'd lost his sight to mustard gas. Mr Barrow and Lady Sybil had tried to warn me that he wasn't mentally ready to leave the hospital, but he was _physically_ well, and we needed the bed. Courtenay committed suicide rather than leave the place he felt safe. As I recall, Mr Barrow was rather broken up about it -- and then seemed to grow rather cruel, as if in compansation. I've long suspected his feelings for Courtenay were more than platonic -- I'm ashamed to admit it's part of why I didn't take Barrow's warning as seriously as I should have. I also didn't think as kindly of him as I could have, and treated him accordingly. I later came to regret that, when I thought on his condition, and wondered what life must be like for him. I guess now I have my answer.

"In light of all this," he went on, "How can we convince him his life is still worth having? Marriage, children, family, friendship, work, and home -- all things happiness is typically defined by, and he's on the verge of having _none_ of them."

"He _does_ and will _continue_ to have _friends_ ," Baxter insisted.

"Aye, he does. More than that, we're a _family_ ," Elsie realised. She'd never had children, but Thomas was like a son to her, as Daisy was like a daughter to Patmore. In fact, the relationship between Charles and Thomas was rather like a father and son -- the sort that were constantly antagonising one another. Plenty of times she had noted Thomas seeking Carson's approval and respect -- only to be ignored or cut down. Well, Elsie could try to be a better "mother", at least. "We just have to help him _believe_ it. He often frustrates me to no end, to be sure, but then, that's what family does -- they drive you mad, and you love them anyway."

"Yes, and he may not have children of his own, but the Crawley children adore him, and he adores them," Baxter observed. "Even if he has to join another house, it's not like he can't ever see any of _us_ again. And he'll surely find friends a new house -- he'll have a clean slate, no hurt feelings and bad history to overcome."

"Aye, I said as much," Elsie remembered, trying to think of her exact wording; she suspected that the way she'd said it hadn't made the man feel any better about himself ....

And then Elsie suddenly remembered something else. "What treatment was he talking about?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality forbids me to speak of it, Mrs Hughes. And I suggest you don't put poor Miss Baxter here in an awkward position by asking her, either."

Elsie only nodded noncommittaly.

"Good evening to you both, then," he said, turning away. He suddenly stopped, turning back. "I should say ... there is nothing he has done to make himself into a homosexual, and nothing he can do to change it. In case anyone should doubt that and suggest something to the contrary. Now, I'll see myself out, so you can focus on his care."

When the man was outside of earshot, Elsie asked Baxter, "It was some sort of quack treatment to make him 'normal', wasn't it? If you say nothing, I'll assume that's what it was, and you won't have betrayed his confidence."

Baxter indeed said nothing, just offered a sad smile as she headed into the room Thomas was in.

Elsie's heart broke a little more, compounded by guilt. What else had the man suffered through, unbeknownst to anyone? How could she have known the man for fifteen years and not seen that he was struggling ...?

~* * *~  
"What's wrong?" John asked as he stood beside his wife, pulling out a chair. She was frowning, looking on the verge of tears as she hurriedly sewed. "Are you feeling all right?" It was a constant worry of his own. If she felt the slightest twinge of pain, he was ready to carry her to the car, leg be damned.

The hall was empty, but she looked around to be certain, and kept her voice low. "Thomas tried to kill himself. Slit his wrists in the bathtub." A tear fell, and she quickly wiped it away.

John fell heavily to his seat, stunned. "How is he?"

"He'll live." She sounded uncertain of the truth of that statement. He understood -- there was being alive, and there was _living_ , after all.

He slid his arm around her, glad that she could feel free to lean into him the way she was now, drawing comfort, without raising any eyebrows if someone walked in. It was a luxury they both enjoyed, but Barrow likely never would.

When he and Anna had noted how Andy avoided the man, they'd felt a little sorry for Barrow, but that sympathy had been curbed by the memory of things Barrow had done, to them and others, and the understanding that Barrow wasn't guiltless in the way his life had gone. Now, though, John found himself reevaluating the latter thought, considering that maybe Barrow wasn't as guilt _y_ as they told themselves, either. John could also admit to himself that Barrow tended to bring out the worst in John, that he didn't always like who he was around the man -- he leaned towards giving Barrow back as good as he got, revealing a cruel streak of his own, if only in words -- and that additionally soured John on being around him. 

Thing was, though, John was never entirely comfortable about taking the valet job from Barrow -- either time. Whatever else could be said of Barrow, he was good at his job, and it was understandable that he would have seen the promotion as rightfully his -- especially when his competition couldn't handle every aspect of the work. Of course, the fact that the boy had been a thief, coupled with the need for work and the fact than he was injured in the first place saving His Lordship, had alleviated John's discomfort. But Barrow had been a boy back then, and heavily under the influence of O'Brien, a truly poisonous human being. He'd mellowed in recent years (though he did still have his darker moments).

John had seen how the man had lost his spark the first time he'd been about to be thrown out. Downton was, for some inexplicable reason, Barrow's whole world. John could handle leaving Downton, just not Anna -- and he realised now that, for Thomas, leaving Downton was something like leaving a wife.

John knew that at least some of the ill Barrow bore towards him stemmed from the fact that Barrow wanted what John and Anna had but never could have it himself. John had already pitied the man for that, at least -- even as it irritated him that Barrow unfairly vented that frustration at others, including Anna. That pity was why he and Anna had investigated the situation with Andy. He was certain Barrow understood and respected that Andy wasn't his sort, and he'd seen how well Andy had gotten on with Barrow in the first place. John hadn't thought it was right to shun Barrow for his interests rather than his actions.

And really, wouldn't it be good for _everyone_ if Barrow had more friends? Ones who were better people, and so set a better example, than O'Brien had? Baxter's influence seemed to have helped so far, Barrow's snide comments coming fewer and farther in between. John had to admit, while he hadn't approved of Barrow's behavior with Gwen, he couldn't deny there was some validity to the points Barrow made with his subsequent outburst.

Hindsight was 20/20; it was clear now that the outburst wasn't just a momentary tantrum, but the bursting of a mental boil that had been building. It was a sign that the man was in pain and that his situation needed addressing, but they'd just shrugged it off as Barrow being his "nasty old self" -- never mind that he hadn't actually _been_ that self in a goodly while. Maybe those outburst and other cruelties over the years had _never_ been a matter of a man just being mean. Maybe they'd been watching the man drown for _years_.

John was all the gladder he'd helped Barrow keep his job. He'd been afraid Barrow would lord his under-butler status over everyone, but the truth was, the man had never abused that power. Whatever missteps Barrow had made since, John had to give the man credit there.

And really, John was just plain tired of being at odds with the man, tired of living in expectation of ill behavior, when truth be told, Barrow hadn't been any worse, any meaner-spirited, than the lot of them in a long while. Carson had actually been king of the mean-streak of late -- and John had just sat back, enjoying it, seeing it as Barrow's comeuppance for his _past_. Barrow was mostly just _world-weary_ now, sword always at the ready -- not to attack wantonly, but to get the first strike in when he perceives himself threatened. Maybe the man had ample training and some reason to behave that way -- he'd certainly hinted at a less than happy childhood.

Maybe it was up to John to lay down arms first, if any sort of peace was going to be achieved.

~* * *~  
As Elsie and her husband walked to their cottage, Charles was in a temper again, and thus Elsie had trouble reining her own in, nut she managed barely. She stopped, taking his hand. "Charles, I want you to do something for me."

"What?" He asked warily, no pretense of politeness.

"Count our blessings with me."

"What?" he asked again.

She began to walk, and he followed. "One, we have each other, and no one telling us we can't be together. Two, we have our jobs, and employers who are eager to keep us. Three, we have a nice little home which will be ours for the rest of our days. Four, we have good food in our bellies and don't even have to pay for it. Five, we have many wonderful people in our who make it clear, daily, that they value us. These are all things that make us content in our lives. The idea of suicide is as foreign to us as the customs of a far-off land.

"Now what does Mr Barrow have?" she went on. "A nature that puts him at odds with the world, earning scorn and condemnation, the threat of loss of job and home and sustenance, with you rubbing that in his face and reminding him every five minutes--"

"I'm only doing my job! He has to go!"

"Well, you don't gave to be so _gleeful_ about it! Now let me finish. There's his inability to share his life with someone in ... _our_ way, and him having very few friends besides -- not to mention Mrs Patmore and you sabotaging his attempt to _make_ a new friend."

"Sabotage?!" he replied, indignant. "We have good reason to be wary, after the incident with James!"

She stopped again, hands on hips. "It happened once in 15 years, with O'Brien egging him on. He fancied himself Prince Charming and got it into his head that Jimmy felt the same. Andy likes girls, and Barrow knows it. He's not the sort to coerce or force someone about ... _that_ \-- he wants _love_."

"Well, what was Andy doing in his room, then? And why was Andy acting all ... _flibbertigibbity_ when I caught him?"

"Well, I imagine it was because Barrow was teaching him how to _read_ , and he was _embarrassed_ that he didn't already know how."

Elsie felt a smidge of satisfaction at how that shut Charles up.

"Now, Baxter was telling me that, when she said she admired how Barrow doesn't care what others think, he insisted he _does_. And you should have seen him the other day, when he was telling me how this was the first place he'd put down roots! We should be honoured he feels that way! We haven't done much to deserve it, if you ask me.

"So maybe we should try seeing him for the man he's _become_ instead of the boy he once was," she suggested. "We keep saying he needs to change, be nicer, but then we don't give him the chance to _be_ nicer, second-guessing his attempts to be, and chiding or even _mocking_ him when he expresses his opinion, even when he's polite about it. Maybe we should try _listening_ for a change. I have a feeling he's far smarter about the world, how it's changing, than we are. You keep _lamenting_ the changes from inside our little bubble, but he's the one who has to really _live_ with this world -- and apparently is terrified of the idea, or else finds no merit in it." She started walking again, her faster pace reflecting her ire. "He's got the world on his shoulders, holding him down in ways we'll never know, thank God -- we could at least try to not make his burden even heavier!"

She realised then that Charles wasn't following. She turned and found him staring off to the side with what she privately called his "thoughtful frown". She hoped it meant she'd gotten through to him, and hadn't instead, counter-productively in her own anger, _upset_ him. The longer the silenced stretched on, the more she feared the later, bracing herself for an explosion.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She decided to try a different tact. "You may not _like_ all that he is, but surely you don't _hate **all**_ of him?"

He seemed taken aback at the idea. "Well ... no ... he's very good at his job -- I've given him an excellent reference in that regard."

She walked back slowly, nodding. "He's learned a lot from you, you know. You can be proud of that. He's quick on his feet, able to handle a crisis. So can you recognise that his inability to get a job is no reflection on _either_ of you? That if _we_ can't keep him because of downsizing, and so many others are also downsizing ... then maybe there simply isn't anywhere for him to _go_? And surely with Molesely taking up teaching, and Andy getting into farming, we might actually still have need of him _ourselves_?"

_That_ did it.

"That's a good point. And I'm not _completely_ heartless, I'll have you know," he pouted as he began to stroll, offering his arm.

She took it, letting out a quiet breath of relief, bullet dodged. "I know you aren't -- I wouldn't have married you otherwise."

"I'll talk to His Lordship," he assured her. "We _can't_ keep the position forever -- the day is fast coming where we won't have footmen on a _daily_ basis at _all_ \-- but it might help him to know we won't just turn him out on the street tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. And maybe His Lordship could put out feelers ...."

She knew he hated that idea, asking the family for help; she gave him a smile and an approving squeeze. Meanwhile, she'd ask Baxter to feel out Her Ladyship on the subject.

"I ... I never really thought he _had_ feelings of that nature, you know -- the kind that could be hurt," Charles remarked quietly.

"Well, he might do an impressive impersonation of a statue in the dining room, but he's not _actually_ made of stone, you know. And even if he was ... love brought Galatea to life."

~* * *~  
Sleep had indeed come, dreamless oblivion, though Thomas didn't know for how long -- a minute?An hour? A day?

A touch on his brow, brushing a stray lock of hair from it, startled him into opening his eyes; he found Baxter looking back at him.

"Was this _your_ doing?" he asked, trying for heat in his voice, but a tremor of cold spoiled the attempt.

Baxter drew his blanket up higher. "It was yours, actually -- Mr Molesely told me what you'd said to him, and after how you seemed last I'd seen you, I put two and two together." She took his bad hand between both of hers, warming his fingers, and he was too weak to pull away. "Is _this_ why you wouldn't let me be fond of you? Because you didn't want me to be sad after you were gone? Well, I would have been sad anyway."

He felt a twinge of affection then, against his better judgement, and, resigned (even a little welcoming), slid into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in his wrists from the action. "Well, you're kinder than I -- or the world, really -- deserves, and you'd be the only one."

"Andy was quite distressed. So was Mrs Hughes. You're still alive because they, and Anna, all helped me help you."

He scoffed. "Well, you're _all_ nice, caring people -- that doesn't mean they _like_ me, even if for some inexplicable reason _you_ do. And even if they _weren't_ nice, what _else_ were they gonna do? Have tea?"

"Yes, they are nice people -- _and_ they like you. Just as Master George and Lady Sybbie and little Marigold do, and even Isis and Tia -- and they say children and animals are the best judge of character."

Remembering how he'd once locked Isis in a shed for his own gain, yet she'd licked his face the next day, he wasn't so sure of that, but he wasn't about to bring that up to refute her claim.

"Maybe ... maybe you won't ever have exactly the kind of love you want, but there are _other_ kinds of love, Thomas, and other kinds of family. I can't promise no one will ever hurt you again, but you can have joys too, if you could just let your guard down a little. I know you have great kindness in you -- Andy knows it too. The world can't afford to lose that."

He was able to enjoy the praise for all of two seconds before his brain had to ruin it, as always. "Ah, but what about my cruelty?" he asked ruefully. "Is it worth the trade-off?"

"Besides the fact that I'm sure you could quell that, if you believed it worth your while ... I've seen you put that cruelty to good use. Remember how Denker conned Andy, and you got back at her, and got back Andy's money to boot? Or how you got your vengeance on Lady Rose's father-in-law? You may not have intended for it, but I think good came of that, if only in that it gave her father-in-law reason to be fond of her for saving him. And then there was what happened with that Gwen girl -- you calling her out actually gave her a happy afternoon, a moment to shine and really see how far she's come."

"Oh, so I'm an _ineffectual_ villain," he replied wryly.

"Only when you're being your own worst enemy. But I've seen you be loyal and sweet and thoughtful and smart and funny, when you think no one's looking. Why do you think I keep seeking you out, even when you're being prickly? Finding the best rose is worth risking the thorns."

He snorted. "Me, a rose? That's as absurd as Patmore running a house of ill repute!"

Baxter stifled a laugh. "Well, we'll have to agree to disagree there." She got soft-eyed. "Just know I love you, whether you like it or not. I was an only child, you know, so I always saw you as the little brother I never had." She squeezed his hand.

It was like she'd wrung out a dish-towel -- he began to cry what felt like a deluge.

"Oh, Thomas," she whispered, hugging him close, stroking his hair and kissing the crown of his head. When was the last time anyone had touched him so tenderly? He couldn't even remember.

And then she began to sing.

" _Lavender's green, dilly, dilly,_  
Lavender's blue  
if you love me, dilly, dilly,  
I will love you  
Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly,  
And the lambs play  
We shall be safe, dilly, dilly,  
out of harm's way  
I love to dance, dilly, dilly,  
I love to sing  
When I am queen, dilly, dilly,  
You'll be my king  
Who told me so, dilly, dilly,  
Who told me so?  
I told myself, dilly, dilly,  
I told me so ...."

He drifted off to sleep, feeling more peaceful now than he had as he'd lain dying. He'd felt, as he'd slit his wrists, that it was the last means of control he had, the only choice he could call his own. But choice meant having at least two options, and now he chose the second: living.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy and Carson's reactions, plus a bit more thoughts from Thomas -- including some letters Carson finds ....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was finished with this installment, but I guess not! LOL!

"How is he?" Andy asked Baxter in the servants' hall just before their dinner, Anna having taken over watching Mr Barrow.

"Better," Baxter said with a hopeful note, making Andy wonder if she was right, or if it was wishful thinking. "I think the fact that we found him showed him that he's cared about. That makes a difference, knowing someone cares if you live or die."

Andy thought back on how he'd treated Mr Barrow, shunning him for so long. And just when they'd started becoming friends, with Barrow helping him learn to read, what did Andy do? Dumped Barrow because an "actual" teacher had came along. He supposed the teacher had a point about calling conflicting approaches to learning being potentially confusing, but Andy hadn't then made an effort to spend time with Barrow _otherwise_ , as if learning to read was the only reason he'd talked to Barrow at all, and not that Andy had come to see the good man Barrow was. That couldn't have helped Barrow feel very wanted -- especially not with Carson practically shoving Barrow out the door!

Andy wished now he hadn't listened to the gossip-mongers of the house that had warned him away from a kind man -- and for what? Barrow had only ever helped him, showing concern and compassion where other men had only shown contempt, and had never made any amourous advances. If a heterosexual man could be just friends with a woman, why should anyone assume a homosexual man was automatically interested in pursuing every other man?

No, Andy trusted Barrow now -- and wished he had come to do so sooner. Well, he would be a better friend from now on! He went to see the man first thing when he was done with his duties, bringing a deck of cards with him, and was glad to find the man awake. Baxter was there too, looking to be trying to comfort the poor fellow, holding Barrow's bad hand in hers.

Baxter smiled, welcoming, but Barrow blushed upon seeing Andy, averting his eyes, and Andy wondered if a visit was such a good idea after all. Well, it was too late now ....

"How are you feeling?" Andy asked, stepping in.

Barrow shrugged, flicking his eyes up at Andy for just a moment. He looked like he wished the Earth would swallow him -- or like he wished he had a grave to crawl into and hide. "I'm sorry for the trouble I put you through," he said instead of really answering.

Andy shook his head. "There's nothing to apologise for. You were there for _me_ in a low moment -- we _all_ have them! I'm just glad we found you before it was too late. _Truly_. And if there's anything else I can do to help, just say the word! I _mean_ it."

Barrow looked up then, surprise in his eyes. It gutted Andy a little -- no friend should be surprised to hear you cared for them! "Thank you," Barrow whispered roughly before dropping his eyes back to the duvet. His cheeks coloured again, highly noticeable in contrast with his pale skin. Andy's heart broke even further.

"I brought some cards," Andy offered, hoping to dispel the awkwardness. "Fancy a round or two?"

Barrow seemed torn -- and why wouldn't he be? Sure, he was clearly embarrassed over his suicide attempt, but loneliness doubtless played a part in driving him to suicide in the first place! Indeed, if someone could look starved for company, the hollow-cheeked wraith before him certainly fit the description! Andy needed to make the man realise that he wasn't staring through a bakery window at friendship bread he wasn't allowed to have, but rather was being _offered_ it.

To that end, Andy sat down without waiting for an answer, drawing out the cards from his pocket. "Would you care to shuffle?" he asked Baxter, holding out the deck to her, not giving Barrow a chance to deal his own fate just now by saying no. Andy then launched into a story of one of the hall boys catching hell from Carson the other day, which spun off other stories, some from his childhood, which prompted Baxter to join in with _her_ own stories -- ones that served to remind Barrow of brighter moments from his youth, since they apparently had known each other!

Anna and Bates came up a short while later. "Well, so this is where the card game is tonight!" Anna said cheerfully. "Mind if we join in?"

Barrow looked a little gobsmacked. "Uh ... sure?"

The pair seated themselves on one of the other beds in the room, and play commenced with everyone chatting amiably, particularly having a good laugh over the idea of Mrs Patmore running a house of ill repute. 

When Barrow fell asleep mid-hand with a faint smile on his lips, Andy counted the effort another victory, hoping there would be many more. Every victory meant another minute, maybe another hour, hopefully another whole day, that Mr Barrow found reason enough to stay ....

~* * *~  
Barrow had been sleeping when Carson had checked in on him the prior evening, and was asleep now, the next morning. (Baxter and Elsie assured him that Barrow _had_ been awake at various points in that time, though. Perhaps Barrow heard him coming, and was avoiding him ....) Anna had relieved Baxter a half hour ago, Carson knew, but Anna needed to help Mary, (and Her Ladyship, so Baxter could rest), so Carson took over. He studied the sleeping man from the foot of the bed, noting the dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks. Always pale, Barrow was a veritable corpse now. 

Thinking on it, it seemed to Carson that the man hadn't looked well in a goodly while. Carson even remembered recently remarking how Barrow had seemed disenchanted with life -- how had Carson missed the obvious, then? He was the leader of the staff, and leaders were supposed to look out for those in their charge. The fact that he found Barrow unpleasant shouldn't have mattered -- whilst living there, Barrow was his responsibility.

And as Elsie had pointed out, the man had an element stacked against him that, however repulsive, wasn't his _fault_. For the first time, Carson wondered if he and Barrow could have been friends, if not for that element. Not just because Carson wouldn't have had that to be disgusted by, but rather because, without that excuse for bitterness, perhaps the man would then have then been as kind to others in general as, thinking on it now, Carson had seen him be with the Crawley children. That had been another reason Carson had disliked Barrow: his cruelty. But what if Barrow hadn't had to contend with the fact that there was something everyone expected of life, and most everyone _had_ , but he could never have himself? For it was clear that, when Barrow had mocked William and flirted with William's crush, Daisy, it was because Barrow, with all his sophistication, couldn't have romantic love in his life no matter what he did, and so resented that William, such a simple boy, might have it. Would Barrow have found other reasons and ways to be cruel, if he hadn't had that one _particular_ reason?

The man was good at his job -- Carson could say that much for certain. Really, with the glowing recommendation he'd written the man, he hadn't been able to fathom why Barrow hadn't yet found a job. It hadn't occurred to Carson that there simply weren't jobs to be found, until Elsie had pointed it out. He'd -- uncharitably, he realised now -- assumed Barrow just hadn't been trying. Still, he had the feeling Barrow _didn't_ want to go. Maybe his ... _delicacy_ was even more of an issue elsewhere than it had been for _Carson_ ...?

Carson's eyes fell on the bandages, and he winced. Suicide was, in general, as alien and repulsive a notion as homosexuality, but faced with the _reality_ of suicide, rather than just the idea, and knowing he'd not only done nothing to help Barrow stave the urge off, but rather had, in his eagerness to be rid of Barrow, possibly even _contributed_ to driving the man _to_ it ....

 _Be careful what you wish for._ He'd never wished the man _dead_ , just _gone_ , but still ....

Barrow stirred, and Carson took a seat beside him.

"Mr Carson!" Barrow sat up quickly, then swooned a little.

Feeling a stab of pity, Carson laid a hand on the lad's shoulder. "Steady on, then, Mr Barrow ...."

Somehow, Barrow looked even paler -- and a little terrified. He also had the decency to seem ashamed of himself. (And here Carson had thought shame as foreign to Barrow as kindness -- or most other feelings!)

"Mr Carson, I ... I want to apologise for the ... the upset and inconvenience to everyone yesterday."

At the man referring his near-brush with death as an inconvenience, Carson felt the sting of guilt. How cold Barrow must think him, to feel he must apologise for having a personal crisis -- and to word it like he'd dropped a tray during dinner!

Barrow's voice got rough, and Carson thought he saw a glitter to the man's eye as he went on, "I swear to you, I have been trying _very_ hard to find a new place. I wouldn't impose upon the house a moment more, if I could avoid it."

A chill went down Carson's spine. Had Barrow seen himself a burden, and, failing to find another job, thought suicide to be only way left to leave, as Carson and His Lordship wished ...?

Carson swallowed hard. "Mr Barrow, I fear I have been ... _most_ unkind to you. Mrs Hughes has pointed out to me that, if we are letting people go, then mayhap too many other houses are as well -- meaning there are many applicants and too few jobs. I had assumed, because of your skill, that you would be a shoe-in wherever you wanted to go--" Barrow seemed surprised and touched by that "--and you simply weren't putting forth the effort." Barrow deflated at that. "I should have known better, to be honest -- you've never been a slouch." Barrow perked up. "I'm ... _sorry_ if I have been unsympathetic. I have spoken to His Lordship, and we are in agreement that you should stay as long as you need. We do ask that you keep _looking_ , of course, times being what they are, but please don't feel you aren't welcome here while you look for something." Saying it now, he realised that didn't sound like much of an improvement, but things were what they were -- neither of them could stay the inevitable.

Barrow seemed to recognise that, nodding. "Thank you, Mr Carson -- I appreciate the kindness. When it's convenient for him, I'll thank His Lordship as well."

They both outwardly ignored the tear that rolled down Barrow's cheek, but Carson would be a liar if he told himself that the sight didn't move him.

"I know you're busy, Mr Carson," Barrow continued. "You can go, if you need to. I'll be all right."

Carson studied the man a moment, and decided Barrow wasn't planning to try taking his life again. (And, well, both of them were growing increasingly uncomfortable with prolonged interaction of such a personal nature.) He nodded. "I'll leave you to rest, then."

"I should get up, really," Barrow replied, gingerly starting to rise.

Carson laid his hand more heavily on the young man's shoulder. "You'll do no such thing!"

"Mr Carson, I intend to earn my keep!" Barrow protested weekly. "Besides, people will talk if I don't get back to work!"

"The doctor has ordered a few days of rest, and I've already told everyone that you have influenza. And let's face it -- if you tried to work now, you'd probably fall down the stairs! Let's not waste the effort to save you!"

He meant it as a joke, but from the stricken look on the man's face, it was in poor taste. Carson immediately regretted it.

A thought occurred to him: this wasn't Barrow's room, had nothing of the man's things, and he had noted over the years that Barrow was a voracious reader. "Can I bring you anything to pass the time? A book from the library, perhaps?" Despite Daisy's latent interest in learning and Molesly's general bookishness, Barrow was by far the most common name to be found in the book-lending ledger.

Barrow grew even meeker; it was unsettling. "Actually ... if it's not too much trouble, there's a book in my nightstand ...."

Carson hid his dismay at the thought of having to enter the man's personal domain. "I shall fetch it as soon as I can," Carson promised.

"No rush!" Thomas insisted. "And thank you, sir."

It was much easier to say "You're welcome" to Barrow then than Carson would have thought.

~* * *~  
After Carson left, Thomas got as comfortable as he could on the lumpy-in-a-different-way-from-his-own-bed mattress, then stared at the ceiling, thinking. As kind as everyone had been to him the night before, he understood that it wasn't because they suddenly _liked_ him, but rather because they felt _sorry_ for him. It was like when Bates had helped him with O'Brien. Hell, even Thomas had a soft spot for an underdog. But he held no illusion that this would change anything for long -- the memory of what he'd done to himself would fade, just like the scars.

What he'd done to _them_ , though, that was different, wasn't it? Thomas himself had a long memory for slights incurred against him. But going towards death, and coming out the other side, he found he was seeing things from a different angle now. He'd long ago learned to hurt before being hurt himself, to put distance between himself and anyone who might care for him, learned not to trust anyone ... and had acted accordingly. He'd essentially guaranteed he had no real friends, by treating everyone as an enemy before they could betray him, the way three of the people he'd cared for most while growing up -- father, sister, and a family friend -- had done. (And sometimes four -- in some of his darker, more unreasonable moments, he saw his mother's death as a betrayal, her abandoning her children.) 

With this new view, he could see himself in the shoes of even John Bates -- injured as he'd been, and having served prison time, of _course_ the man had taken advantage of his history with His Lordship to get work! It wasn't like the man had had many options. Thomas would have done the exact same thing, had certainly put his own connections to use as best he could. He couldn't fault the man for doing what he could to survive -- nor fault His Lordship for feeling indebted and acting on that. Valeting was an intimate job; of course it made sense to hire someone he trusted with his life. And thinking on it now, if His Lordship had already known about Thomas being a homosexual, he could have felt as uncomfortable with the idea of being dressed by Thomas as a woman would feel being dressed by a heterosexual man. Thomas might not have been in the running at all when Bates had joined the staff, despite it being a natural promotion for most footmen. Really, it was something of a miracle Thomas had _ever_ gotten the job. (Never mind that His Lordship wasn't exactly what Thomas looked for in a man.)

And then there was Anna. Thomas hadn't paid her any mind before she and Bates grew close -- and then, because of that closeness, he'd come to write her off as "the enemy". He'd thought no one in the house had ever spared a kind thought for him (or ever would), but he could recall now moments here and there where she _had_ reached out to him -- and this despite having every reason to hate him for the grief he'd caused Bates.

He still didn't think either of them were his friend, but he realised now that they had never actually been his _enemies_.

And then there was Baxter. She baffled him, standing by him despite his blackmail threats. His knee-jerk reaction to anyone reaching out to him was to slap their hands away, out of fear that what seemed a friendly hand would turn out to be ready to strike instead. How many times had he let his guard down around his father, after all, when the man had seemed loving, only for the man to fly into a rage out of nowhere? But Baxter had never turned sour on him, never hurt him, even despite his lashing out.

He didn't think she actually saw him as a _friend_ , of course; how could she, when he had never treated her like one? It was just that she had a naturally kind and compassionate nature. She kept reaching out, and her hand always stayed gentle. He'd tried to reciprocate since the day she'd gone to see Clarkson with him, but sometimes his innate cantankerousness got the better of him. Old habits were hard to break.

He resolved to try harder -- with her, and with everyone.

Even if it was probably too late to improve anyone's perception of him.

~* * *~  
In the drawer in question, Carson did indeed find a novel -- and what looked to be a couple hundred letters, the topmost of which was from a respectable house.

A house that Carson knew Barrow had never been interviewed by, apparently rejected without being given even a _remote_ chance to prove himself.

Carson was going to ignore it, he really was, but it occurred to him that, if he knew _why_ Barrow had been rejected, he might adjust his reference accordingly.

What he read nearly made him apoplectic, as well as something he never would have dreamt of feeling: indignant on Mr Barrow's behalf.

They essentially wanted five servants in one! Why, the very idea of a butler carrying out all those duties was ludicrous! If he'd discovered Barrow was saying no to offers that asked him to be the entire staff as one man, Carson wouldn't have blamed him in the slightest for refusing the indignity! And for them to then say that the man was _overqualified_ , as if proving oneself capable meant you were somehow less capable of working .... What kind of topsy-turvy, illogical place was the world becoming? He looked at the next dozen letters, and most said the same sort of thing.

And then he noted the first bundle.

It was a thick one, probably fifty letters, the topmost letter addressed to an Edward Barrow and labelled "return to sender". Again, Carson wouldn't have pried, except ... he felt strongly that these letters would offer important insight! Carefully undoing the string, he found that the glue had come undone on the envelope of the topmost letter, leaving it open. Inside, he found a note written in the familiar, neat hand of Barrow -- Thomas -- himself.

_Father, please, I beg you to believe me. It was I who was accosted, not the other way around. I never invited the advances. I know what I am sickens you, but I am still your son, and I would never have risked the shop by willingly committing such an act there. Why won't you believe me? Please, I miss you and Elizabeth -- let me come home!_

Did Barrow mean that some man had forced himself on him, and his father had subsequently thrown him out? He'd known Barrow's father had owned a clock shop -- he'd thought Barrow simply hadn't had an interest in running a shop (though he had a clear affinity for the devices), and so had decided to leave of his own accord, to go into service instead ....

As for the letter's claim, for a moment, Carson thought maybe Barrow was lying about the other man. Then, though, he remembered how Barrow had insisted Jimmy wasn't to blame for The Incident, and how Barrow had even defended Jimmy for trying to ruin Barrow's life. Thinking on what Mrs. Hughes had said about Thomas wanting love, Carson thought it more likely Thomas would have accepted the blame if he'd held any affection for his assailant. Then he thought about how _young Barrow_ had been when he'd come to Downton ....

His stomach churning, the pity Carson felt for the man over this recent event now extended to that far past one.

The next several envelopes were sealed, but eventually another was unglued.

_Dearest Father, I hope this finds you well. I've been made First Footman already! It's so hard to sleep here, though, without the sound of the clocks. If you won't let me come home, maybe you can spare a clock for me? It doesn't have to keep proper time! I just need the ticking -- surely you understand? Surely you love me that much still, enough to take pity on me? Surely you must remember those days when I was a child yet, and you would bring me into the shop and show me whatever you were working on at the time? I cannot even see a clock without thinking of you ...._

There were stains on the letter -- water marks, just a drop or two. Tears? More evidence that Barrow had a heart -- had _always _had one?__

Going on, it quickly became clear that Thomas had come to treat the letters as a sort of diary, that he had stopped believing the letters would ever be opened, speaking more freely -- and candidly. 

Another dozen letters later, Carson read, _Dearest Father, my employer seems to have cottoned on to my peculiarity. Thankfully, he hasn't thrown me out -- hasn't even demoted me! But I think he might give you a run for your money when it comes to loathing me. You could form a club! Talk to the boys I went to school with -- I'm sure they'd love a reunion! They could give you a repeat performance of that wonderful "concert" where they used my head for a drum and my ribs for a xylophone._

Carson swallowed back bile. It was true, he'd realised early on what Barrow was, but had done his best to ignore it because the boy had been exceptional at the work, and there was the bonus of no worry when it came to the maids. Carson thought he'd hidden his disgust better, at least until The Incident. His words to Barrow then, about how the man should be horse-whipped, haunted him in light of this revelation .... 

Carson didn't actually unbundle the next group of another fifty or so letters, but thumbed through, glanced at the dates and comparing them to the first bundle. The letters had started out being sent twice a week for a month or two, then once a week, then once a month, then once every couple months, until they just were sent around a day in June -- his father's birthday, maybe? -- and Christmas. And nothing at all for the past few years. It was like a heartbreaking record of Barrow giving up. 

There was a third bundle, addressed to Barrow himself, with a return address from an Elizabeth Martin -- his sister, perhaps? The first couple dozen or so letters were open. Carson looked at the first few -- typical family letters, with occasional mentions that their father was doing well but still refused to speak to or about his son. The last open letter, though .... 

_Thomas ~ Father has told my husband of the incident -- calling it your "indiscretion". I explained to Aaron that it was Uncle Michael's doing, that you were the victim and that I saw the incident with my own eyes, but Aaron is convinced that you are tainted. And to be honest, I'm not sure he's wrong. It might not have happened to you if you hadn't had such ungodly feelings to start with. For the sake of our children, we ask that you cease all contact until you have been cleansed of your sins and repent. I truly believe the best way for you to do that is to become a man of the cloth. Once you have done that, you may contact me again, through the church._

The rest of the letters weren't to Thomas, but rather to Elizabeth, all with "return to sender" written on them. Like the letters to the father, their frequency tapered off, until Barrow had apparently given up on her as well, not long after he stopped writing his father. 

Well, no wonder Barrow had always been such a sour fellow, after having been abused by a man and then essentially abandoned by his family! Carson had always tried to maintain a certain distance between himself and the rest of the staff, but more and more, he wondered if that was the best approach. The last fifteen years with Barrow might have been very different if Carson had stepped up when the man's father had stepped down! 

Heart heavy, Carson replaced the letters, then left with the book. 

Barrow was asleep again when Carson got to the sickroom, so Carson gently laid the book on the man's chest. Before slipping quietly away, he paused a moment to study the lines of the man's face with new eyes, wondering what other secrets he might read between them. 

Carson being Carson, though, he then decided maybe some things were better left as mysteries .... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Anna told him to reflect on things a few months later, and Thomas sounded like he did it upon her suggestion, according to his conversation with Baxter, but I find it hard to believe that he didn't think at least a *little* about it from the get-go -- particularly considering the comment to George about at least having ONE friend, in him ....
> 
> Yes, the family friend / "Uncle" sexually assaulted Thomas when he was an older teenager, and his father catching them in the act is my reason for Thomas being thrown out. I'll explore this more later in the series (NOT for titillation).

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is inspired by the [Nelson song](https://www.youtube.com/#/watch?v=dFLggqjddKM). XD
> 
> I intend to do a follow-up to the Christmas special, as a sequel to this, and then a post-special fic.
> 
> #############  
> If you've enjoyed my writing, I invite you to explore my original fantasy storyverse, [Gaiankind](http://gaiankind.com)! You can even find Gaiankind stories for free [here](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Gaiankind) on AO3!


End file.
